Micha said simply that the name came from a round rock, duh. Does this rock still exist, I asked. Yep, she said. Knowing how much of a histophile I am, Micha asked if I wanted to check out this significant stone.

We hopped in her car and soon got lost down winding roads and twisted back trails. Like a little kid who saved up box tops, sent off for the propeller beanie hat, and couldn’t wait for it to arrive, I kept a keen watch, expecting the rock to pop up at anytime. Visions of El Capitan, Half Dome, and Gibraltar danced in my head.

Soon enough, we stopped on a low bridge crossing Brushy Creek. Micha parked our vehicle and hopped over to the bridge rail. I followed her, scanning my surroundings in excitement.

Dramatically, she gestured east and exclaimed, “Ta-dah!” I didn’t see anything but low water, nearby office buildings, and the buzzing line of cars known as Interstate 35.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Over there,” she said. All I saw was water, with a small rock peeking out from its surface.

It protruded out of the water like a pimple, flying low under the radar. Although I couldn’t argue with the “rock” portion of the name, the “round” part was still open to debate as the stone was more like an egg-shape.

I expected something akin to Enchanted Rock, Alcatraz, or even Plymouth Rock. Instead, before me stood a three-foot inconspicuous chunk of shale that no one would notice had it rained just a few inches the night before. It was completely lacking in the gravitas required of a namesake. I pointed at the rock and said, “What? That little thing?!”

Author: Matthew

Husband to Jenn, father to Zachary and Penelope, blogger, artist, WordPress consultant, OpenCamp organizer, and running enthusiast. Brother, can you spare an extra hour in the day?
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